


Lonely and Greedy Demands

by andstarswillscream



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Loneliness, Lost Light #1 spoilers, Other, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seeker Trines, Wing Mutilation, cope fic, phantom pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andstarswillscream/pseuds/andstarswillscream
Summary: This was nothing new, something he should have grown used to long before now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is mostly just. something i had to get out. the setting is kind of.... its more of a What If rodimus and the crew ended up in the RIGHT universe, hah.

He’d awoken with a start, a searing ache erupting from his wing joints, still sensitive and woefully tempermental. Starscream hissed, his optics narrowing, and face twisting into something resembling pained. This was nothing new, something he should have grown used to long before now, with an empire under his wings, budding out towards the colonies, their brothers and sisters, with Windblade shoving herself into every possible matter, clearly sabotaging all he’d worked for. He in-vented, and then ex-vented slowly, closing his eyes and letting his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, a resigned sigh rolling its way through his body. 

He supposed, remaking the nest would come later. He pulled himself from the lonely puddle of expensive cloth and pillows, the nest big enough for two more, alongside him. It was a bad habit he didn’t have the spark to fight. The ruler, never once sparked into the role, drifted towards the large window of his home, the remaining moon bright and rising high. He found it hard to look at it now, to appreciate its beauty. There was a time he could, so so long ago. But now, as it rose, the moonlight spreading and draping over Metroplex like a blanket, Starscream choked back his own desperate longing for a home that was nothing but ash and the sickening smell of burning metal. And, he could feel the call to return, to a place whose ruin was his own.

He folded his arms, wings low, almost touching the floor, drawing his gaze away from the moon so he could process the day’s events. This reminiscence was not sudden, of course. He’d spent… more nights than he’d like to admit, staring out into the distance, his spark singing for Vos, and also, for the home he’d found within two others. But he had an inkling— oh, he knew, Megatron’s return, had something to do with this particular ache. His ex-leader had returned to Cybertron with some of the crew of the Lost Light— a mutiny, as the story went. The mirth that Megatron’s expression held, their eyes locked, when it was revealed that yet again, he’d evaded death, from the Deception Justice Division, no less, had allowed an uneasy feeling to settle heavily upon his spark.

Starscream had remained polite as he could be, even as they'd stormed in and demanded a ship. Starscream was more than happy to allow them to stay for a night before heading out with a few of his own mechs, they all looked a right mess, at least until Megatron had laid a hand on his wing. It... was a harmless enough gesture to one who did know know him and his violence, to one who was unaware of the significance of a seeker's wings. To Starscream, it might as well have been a promise. Starscream’s facade had slipped into a mess of frantic, fearful wing movements and snarled threats in Vosian, clawed fingers becoming wicked talons at the moment of contact. Megatron had pulled the seeker closer with a smile, whispering softly.

_Watch yourself._

_I’d do it again._

Memories, fierce and burning had arisen, of his great Lord and Leader gripping the metal of his wings and pulling, hard and harsh and with a snarl that was more beast than Cybertronian. The feeling of his wings being ripped from out of their joints, wires snapping and the piercing scream of metal being torn. The pain, rolling through Starscream’s sensornet, making the seeker howl and shriek and beg for Megatron to ruin anything, anything else. It’d driven him to near-unconsciousness.

It didn’t matter, that after the deed was done, Megatron had cradled him close and called for the best Deception medics available. It hadn’t mattered that he’d remained, guarding Starscream’s berth himself when he could. It didn’t matter that he’d apologized, that he’d said it would never happen again, that he’d gone too far and made a mistake and that Starscream shouldn’t have pushed him. None of that mattered. None of it ever would.

He’d lost the mech who’d taken him under his careful wing. He’d lost his heirs. He’d lost his home. He’d lost his trine. Megatron had sought out the last thing he had left, and ripped that away was well. Starscream was left with wings that didn’t feel the same, wings that didn’t belong to him. Scars and injuries and aches that told a story, that told him he would never fly the same again. He was left trineless, homeless, and uncomfortable in his own frame. He lost faith in his own faction. He’d lost everything.

At the very least, rock bottom was a foundation to stand on. From there, he’d become ruler of Cybertron. He'd finally escaped Megatron’s influence. He’d received a key, the only thing he had left of Skywarp.

Skywarp told him once, he was of the kind that could live without a trine at his flanks. Starscream could admit, he was able to survive alone. 

But that didn’t mean he could thrive.

That didn't mean that he would be okay.

Starscream forced back a sob, his processor raking through the memories, sifting through the broken glass and barbed wire that comprised his existence. He trembled, a hand over his mouth, as he sunk to the floor and fell apart, as cold and alone and empty as the room he laid in.


End file.
